Amaranth
by FuryS Forge1
Summary: (Chapter 4 fixed, things make more sense now) The story of a vampire who was framed for diablerizing the senechal's childe. He just wants to clear his name. Everybody else wants him to die.
1. Notes in the Library

"Damn you Childe, why have you given up? If I were not so loathe to destroy what I create, rest assured that I would consume you." He could not see anything of his sire in the flickering candle light that only seemed to make the shadows darker. He heard the movement of a cape as the sire he had never known turned on his heel. " Perhaps I can still find a use for you in the Jyhad. Never again will I feed you though. If you can survive then maybe you will be useful. I would hate to have squandered the Prince's permission." A slight shift in the air, accompanied by a feeling of just a little more space was the only way he knew that his sire had left.  
  
A D W*  
  
Time had passed then. Day and night had had no meaning, save as times when he could function better or worse. Back then he had tried to sleep as little as possible, knowing that he had little time if he used the blood for something as petty as waking. The room he had been in, and had just now returned to, would have been called a library if it had had a door. Sparsely furnished, there were tall cases of books on all four walls, two candles at the sides of a book stand on a massive desk, littered with blank books, pens, ink, and other materials, and a brazier in each corner of the room. He had not doubted that the key to his escape lay within one of the books in the room, and so he had poured of those ancient tomes, making notes on things he thought might be useful once he escaped, even as he had searched desperately for that which would make his hope a reality. It was from these books that he learnt of kindred history and found the myriad ways to use his blood. It was from  
these books that he learnt history, both that of mortals and kindred, and it was these books that taught him how to escape. Now he was hunted by something that he did not know, or understand. So, much as a childe will return to its mother, seeking the safety of the womb when confronted with something he didn't understand, he had returned to this room which had been his genitor. He now hoped to find something that he could use against his foes.  
  
He remembered that time long ago when he had last seen his sire. He had escaped, that he was here now was testament enough to that, but he had never found the fiend ever again. The threat he had made still lingered in the stagnant air here. He could feel it. As his eyes lighted on the flower that he had named himself after, and had left for his sire, with the short note still tucked underneath it, he smiled, and so cold was his smile that his normally benevolent countenance did not even look remotely human. He did not need to read the note to remember what it said, for each night before sleeping and after waking he recited it out loud, simply to be sure that he would never forget it.  
  
With God as my witness, I swear that I will do nothing that I will regret, save only if it furthers the plans of the Almighty. I shall act as the Justicar of Heaven, until such time as God sees fit to remove from that post.  
  
He opened the first of the books that he had called his journal during his enforced stay here. In truth, they were little more than a collection of insights, thoughts, and the titles of the books he had scoured, recorded simply for the purpose of preventing him from going insane. He had been trapped for more than four years, living off the rats and other small critters he had been able to find, but he hadn't known that until after he had escaped. In the beginning he had tried to keep track of the days, be before the second book was even started the journal entries had ceased to be labeled by days and been labeled as entries.  
  
Idly he flipped through the heavy parchment pages, one of the entries caught his eye. He flipped back a few pages and began to read from the day before's entry. It was strange. He had found something, something he had been to afraid to mention even here and had hidden somewhere. But what he had found, and where it was hidden, were mysteries to him. He dismissed the thought that this was important, even though it continued to nag at him. He kept reading through the journals, remembering those days that he had spent sealed in the room.  
  
It was at the end of the last book, in the ten pages that he had always left empty so as to give himself space to make notes if he had ever gone back through them that he found a note from his sire.  
  
My childe, It began.  
  
I have often wondered if I did the right thing by you. Even now, after such a long period of time the question nags at me, and I can not put my mind at rest, for you dropped from my view almost as soon as you escaped, and I thought it best to leave you to your own devices for a brief period of time, so as to allow you time to grow into your powers, and to prevent others from harming you to hurt me in the Jyhad. I have I think caused you far more grief then is your due, and for such I hope you can forgive me. To this end I have included a capsule of my blood, so that you may use as you see fit in the future. My Vitae is potent, and I fear that you may have need of it in the days to come... But such is not the reason for my writing this note to you.  
  
In the past half century I have heard of you only infrequently, and only once from a source that I could trust. Her name Artemis when you met her, and with the exception of yourself she was the of my Childer.  
  
She is also one of the two whom I can place any trust in currently. He was surprised to read this, for so far as he had known, he was the only creature that had ever been embraced by his sire and not been bound by his sire's blood. A vague memory, more than forty years old, of a Caitiff being pursued by a pack from the Sabbat was all he had for a memory of Artemis. He would have to think on her. If she should seek you out, I ask that you not destroy her until after you have heard all she has to say. I'm going to the other one know, to alert him to the threat we are facing.   
  
Yes boy, a threat. By now I would imagine that you know what I am talking about. If not, then you will in a short period of time. I will not write anything that I know about them down here, instead trusting it all to Artemis, in the event that I die, and trusting to the fact that she will find you, should such need to happen.  
  
I fear that if we do not all work together, with the whole of our abilities, to unite the Camarilla against the threat that I sense looming before us, then there shall be none of the Camarilla left when the time of Gehenna approaches.  
  
I must go now, for they have found my haven, and I must flee the city least they attack me while I sleep. With luck they shall not know of this library, but I do not know how long such a state can last for. To this end I would ask you to preserve these books wherever you can. Do so quickly, else they be lost.  
  
We will meet again,  
  
Thomas Berium  
  
He smiled at the words of his sire, and began gathering what he could of the books into the satchels he had brought with him. He filled all three quickly, and left the room behind.  
  
A D W*  
  
He was more than halfway back to his haven when he heard the screaming and the howls. He had hoped to avoid this, but a quick assessment of his situation said that would be impossible. He saw the band of Kindred come around the corner ahead of him, trailed by the pack of creatures. He had more contact with the wolves then any others of his kind that he new of, but even they would not speak of these creatures anymore than to say that they had been wolves, but were now twisted and corrupted, a danger to all. To fight them wasn't any harder, they were just more likely to be found in the city.  
  
He stepped out into the street as the Coterie of kindred passed, having already put the books down on the sidewalk. His right hand gripped the hilt of his katana, concealed by the long coat he was wearing, while his left eased one of his sawed of Ithaca shotguns out into the open where it could be seen.  
  
The werewolf in front snarled to its colleagues as it ran. "Fresh meat." The lone vampire standing before them smiled for a moment, and then with blinding speed brought the shotgun up and fired.  
  
The misshapen face of the Spiral Dancer didn't even have time to register surprise as the hollow slug of silver, filled with a white phosphorus compound crashed into it. On fire and missing its head the nine foot tall killing machine of fur and muscle collapsed. The kindred's right hand left the hilt of the katana as the other four wolves pulled up short, rapidly reevaluating their strategy. The incessant hyena like cackles made the vampire wonder what they were saying, but he didn't worry about it. This pack had picked the wrong hunting ground tonight, and it was a simple as that to him. His right hand came out of his jacket with a second shotgun, identical to the first. Four gunshots and six seconds later, just burning corpses remained of the Spiral Dancers.  
  
The vampire put both guns back into their respective holsters, walked back over to the satchels, and picked them back up. One of the young kindred from the coterie, a Ventrue he guessed, asked him his name so that they might know who they owed their unlives to.  
  
As he walked away into the shadows he told them it.  
  
"Amaranth." He said.  
  
Author's Note: This was just an idea for a story I had while I was sitting in my African/Asian Lit class, and began to write during a pep rally. Tell me what you think. Suggestions for the title would be appreciated, as I don't have any good ideas. 


	2. On Princes and Dumpsters

Only one thought went through Amaranth's head as he walked down the streets of New York, and that thought was how much he hated having to deal with the other kindred. It was unfortunate that he had been able to shrug off the Prince's summons, but there were some things one simply didn't do if he intended to live (or rather, not live) a hale and hearty life (or, in this case, unlife). One of those was disobey a direct summons from the prince, delivered by Seneschal.  
  
Especially when, after attempting to refuse politely, one woke the next night to find a note tacked to the inside of one's coffin's cover, right at a level with his eyes, saying, quite politely, that, I'm certain you had the best of intentions, now would you please just drop the damned pretenses and hie your undead ass over to my mansion as if the hellhounds of Gehenna were chasing you down and you could go nowhere else, and if you make it in good time then I won't have to declare a blood hunt on you.  
  
So, like any intelligent vampire, Amaranth had done as the prince asked.  
  
Α Δ Ω  
  
And the prince had had his fair share of things to say, most, not make that all, of which had had to do with using Amaranth as a pawn in the Jyhad. Amaranth, as politely had attempted to refuse the refreshments offered him by his host. He had reconsidered however, shortly after seeing the darkening countenance of the prince and the way that his knuckles were becoming white, then putting two and two together and guessing that the odd way the prince's goblet kept changing shape wasn't supposed to be artistic and, therefore, was due to the prince's anger about being refused.  
  
Hastily acquiescing, he sat in the chair the prince's quivering finger pointed at after he had made the mistake of mentioning how one of the paintings the decorated the room was of greatly inferior to the others in terms of, well just about everything. The gesture was accompanied by words from the prince. "Mr. Amaranth, would you be willing to do yourself a favor?" There had been a miniscule pause here, and as soon as Amaranth had opened his mouth to reply, Kylith, the prince, cut him off. "Sit in that chair over there, and do not speak unless told to, or a question is asked to you directly. It will save me the hardship of having to raise my voice, and you the hardship of having your tongue ripped out. Thank you." Through out this exchange Amaranth noticed the Seneschal making a show of hiding his expression of mirth behind his hand.  
  
Kylith walked around the massive mahogany desk that occupied the center of the room, sitting down in the tall Spanish-style over-stuffed chair that sat behind it. Turning so that he faced Amaranth, he began to speak. The Sheriff, who had been standing in a corner cracking his knuckles while brooding darkly to this point, now took up a position behind and to the right of the Prince. His eyes bored into Amaranth with a mixture of distrust, loathing, and just plain old hatred.  
  
"Let us start, Caitiff," said the Prince, "by assuming that you have just now walked into this room, and the past ten minutes did not happen. We have been formally introduced and can now get down to business." The Sheriff's eyes narrowed even more, to the point where Amaranth was no longer sure if they were open or closed. "You are here for a reason Amaranth. Can you guess what that is?"  
  
Stupid question, he thought, but my guess is that it's so this bastard can try to use me in the Jyhad, like any elder worth his salt would. "No, sir, I can not," was his verbal response. He had acted the fool earlier, to get them all off guard, although he knew that the Seneschal hadn't been fooled, now it was time to see if he could get the prince to tell him what he wanted without agreeing to anything. Then he would only have to get the prince to give him something in return for doing it. That, he was sure, would be the hard part.  
  
"Do you remember what you did four nights ago? It was impressive, and the Seneschal's childe seems to believe that you are a great fighter. Myself, I am not so easily convinced. But you broke the rules of Elysium by doing it."  
  
"I do not understand sir. Surely the rules of Elysium do not apply to wolves?" So this was the game they were going to play.  
  
"The rule of Elysium state that you may do nothing which could endanger the Masquerade there, even more so then the rest of the city, and fighting, for any reason, is quiet strictly prohibited. As the rules have been broken, I must make a punishment for you, else others follow in your foolish example."  
  
"But…"  
  
"Do not make excuses, fledgling." This came from the quarter of the Seneschal.  
  
"Accept your duty boy." Snarled the sheriff.  
  
Amaranth shook his head. So, he wouldn't be able to get the Prince to make others leave him alone. Indeed, he would not get anything for doing whatever they wanted apparently. He could have screamed with frustration.  
  
"I am prepared to overlook your minor infringement however, if you would be willing to destroy a particularly troubling Assamite though. For reasons that do not concern you, my hand must not be evident in the death or disappearance of Yaquib Al'Aridish."  
  
"And if I refuse to do your wet work?"  
  
"I shall be forced to call a blood hunt down on you for endangering the Masquerade."  
  
Amaranth stood and began to walk for the door. Kylith spoke when as his hand touched the door. "If you leave this room without giving me an answer, I shall be forced to call the hunt down."  
  
Amaranth smiled as he opened the door. "I shall do as you request. But, it will take time. No, stay seated, I'll find my way out." Kylith started to respond, but the door was already swinging shut.  
  
Α Δ Ω  
  
All this was what had transpired to leave Amaranth trudging down the street, cursing his dealings with Kindred society. He knew that the Prince was hoping he would either die in this errand, or else do something stupid and succeed, giving the prince a chance to declare the hunt any way.  
  
He could also sense the inexperienced Kindred who was following him. And, further back, he could sense the enemy that had started this whole mess, the Enigmas as he called them. He wasn't even sure if they were really enemies or not, now that he thought about it. His mind began to ponder that for a few moments.  
  
It was because he was so preoccupied that he failed to notice the group of teenagers in the alley. He was only dimly aware of their conversation.  
  
"Hey, is that him?"  
  
"Yeah that's the one. Should we take him?"  
  
"He took Gnaws-The-Bones' pack down without even being touched. It'll be tough." Amaranth's mind, still embroiled in figuring out what to do about the Enigmas, asked itself fuzzily what sort of person would be named Gnaws- The-Bones.  
  
"Aww, they were incompetent Jessie, come on, let's give it a try…"  
  
"Whip-Whip-Whip-Whipporwill-Whipporwill-Whip-Whip-Whipporwill!"  
  
The cry of the ten Spiral Dancers was enough to startle Amaranth out of his thoughts, and the premonition of danger was enough to make him throw his body back and away from the cry. The end result of this hectic maneuver was that he rolled underneath the oncoming Mac truck while the misshapen shape that had come flying at him tore the truck apart.  
  
Amaranth rolled into a crouch, his weight positioned so that he could easily spring in any direction. It would figure, he thought to himself, that he had gone to the princes armed only with a stiletto. His ten opponents were arrayed in a rough semicircle facing him, and they were all reaching for the biggest things they could find to hit him with.  
  
The first one to get something into the fray picked up a dumpster and smashed it down on Amaranth. The second, third, fourth and fifth, ones worked together to pickup the cab of the Mac truck and smash it down on top of the dumpster, for which Amaranth was now exceedingly grateful, as it actually protected him from this assault.  
  
The sixth one, the one who had torn the trailer in half, picked up the rear end of the trailer and smashed that into the large pile of scrap metal that was accumulating in the middle of the street as. Following his example one of the others chucked the front half of the trailer on. The other three tore out light posts and stuck them into the pile at odd angles.  
  
As gasoline and oil leaked out of the Mac truck, the Spirals cavorted around in glee, cackling at their good fortune and how much of a wimp the leech had been. An almost colorless gas seeped out from the pile of misshapen metal.  
  
One of the Spirals turned to the human shape that had remained in the alley. "Jessie, you are such a…" was as far as he got before a undead hand with razor-sharp claws for finger tips crashed through his back, and kept on going until the shoulder of the body it was attached to was inside the werewolf's body cavity.  
  
"Pathetic." Said Amaranth. Then he smiled.  
  
  
  
Author's Note: I just love a cliffhanger, don't you? Anyway, I apologize in advance if I overdid the humor. Say Thor, does the description of the battle make you happy? I know the other one was brief, but this one should be nice and long. Let me hear your view, please review. 


	3. Amaranth and Assamites and Tzimisce, oh ...

Shrugging the corpse off his arm Amaranth turned to face the other Spiral Dancers. They were in whatever shape was most comfortable for them, and he surveyed the pack of twisted wolf-men and dogs with no small amount of distaste. The three dogs reminded him of the Hounds of the Baskervilles with their violently bloodshot eyes and mouths frothing with green foam. They were faster and stronger than any ghouled hellhound kept by the prince, that much he knew from previous altercations with both. But he'd rather face them than the wolf-men.  
  
Like their lupine pack mates, these spirals were all deformed, with scars crossing their skin to end in hideous open sores from which a pale green puss leaked. A few of them had withered limbs or other physical deformities, and for the first time in years amaranth was happy that he no longer needed to breath. He could see the hazy vapors of their breathing, and decided upon reflection, that it was best not to imagine what they what they smelt like. Even the Nosferatu generally agreed that Spirals could use a few dozen containers of breath mints at the best of times.  
  
Even before he had finished assessing his foes, Amaranth reached deep inside himself, willing his blood into his arms and legs to increase his speed far beyond the limits of human potential. A small quantity of his blood went into activating his Disciplines of Potence and Fortitude, making his body more durable and strengthening him, but he realized that he could not hope to outlast a pack of wolves, even rabid ones like these, and that his only hope for survival lay in decimating them so quickly that they would never really have a chance to act as a pack and bring him down. Like a lion facing a pack of hyenas, he knew that his death awaited him if he could not even the odds faster than they could bring him down.  
  
He waited for them to attack him, knowing that the others would strike at his sides and back if he struck for any one of them preemptively. He was acutely aware of his bad position, his back to the wall, in the most literal sense of the words, with his foes surrounding him in a semicircle, which allowed them to bring all their attacking power to bear if he attacked. The ideal situation would be for him to be on the other side of the semicircle with them chasing him so that they would spread out and he could deal with them one at a time or in pairs. Thus, he made it his first priority to break free of their encirclement.  
  
His opportunity came when one of his lupine opponents got a little overenthusiastic and launched itself at him before the rest of the pack was ready. He used its face as a springboard to throw himself towards the pile of metal under which they had tried to entrap him. He felt the skull of his foe strike pavement as his foot left it, but than something caught his heel and tore a chunk of it off. He struck the pavement on his shoulder and rolled, coming to his feet near the base of the pile. He had just begun scrambling up when a massive weight bowled into his back like a freight train at full steam.  
  
The force of the impact drove his face hard into the side of the immobile pile, which caused his head to snap back. The result of this was the acquisition of a broken nose and a nasty case of whiplash. The only thing, he knew, that was saving him from being mauled from behind by many sets of razor sharp claws was the unintentional positioning of the nine-foot frame that had struck him and caused it to be something of a primitive shield. This did not make him feel any more kindly disposed to it though.  
  
He lashed back with his elbow, feeling bones shatter at the point of impact. The weight left his back and he pushed himself away from the pile of garbage, feeling his finger nails lengthen into animalistic claws. The wolf-man that had hit him, and been hit in return, was down on its knees, clutching its shattered chest as it coughed up its lifeblood. Amaranth dug his fingers into its eyes, feeling them penetrate through the skull and into the brain, and hurled the werewolf against a wall.  
  
He focused his attention on the nearest spiral (one of the wolves), and charged at it. Caught off guard, it failed to dodge fast enough and Amaranth tore its throat out, sacrificing his ear and a portion of his shoulder to its strike. The wolf that he had used as a spring board earlier caught the side of his legs in its jaws as it leapt for him and ripped out a chunk of his hamstring.  
  
He rolled away from it and struck with his claws, a rapid succession of five blows that forced its shoulders from their sockets, pierced its eyes, and punctured its lungs. It staggered away from him, probably to heal itself, but the last of the wolves clamped its jaws around the wounded's throat and yanked its head backwards, before swallowing the clump of flesh it its mouth and turning its baleful gaze towards him.  
  
Amaranth felt the slight tingling sensation as his body began to heal itself, drawing upon his blood to do so. Even with his mind otherwise occupied with his attempts to free his knife from its sheath, he realized that the wound wasn't healing right. The process was consuming more blood than it ought, and it was too slow.  
  
The process of getting his knife out was made far more difficult by the wolf-man who had decided to jump into his chest, landing knee first. He heard, rather than felt, his ribs shatter, and a small part of him realized that this was a bad sign as it meant his body was going into shock from the trauma that was being inflicted upon it. He pushed this line of thought aside, finding himself slightly more concerned with the knife the werewolf was raising above its -and his- head.  
  
He wrenched his head to the side and the knife buried its three and a half foot blade in the pavement right up to its hilt. He freed his own knife and plunged it into the werewolf's side just beneath the ribcage. It snarled at him and tried to free its weapon. Then he was pushing back on its chin until he heard bones snapping. Pushing the dead weight off him Amaranth forced himself to stand despite the pain for his not healed leg.  
  
Reaching down he grabbed the silver knife –a Klaive, he remembered other werewolves calling them that- by its bone-carved hilt and ripped it free of the asphalt. He could feel the hunger gnawing at the back of his mind, at the part of him that was him, a warning that he was using up his blood supply fast, and a painful reminder that he hadn't fed in the past two nights.  
  
He swung the klaive at the last lupine Spiral as it leapt for his throat, the blade crashing sideways into its neck, than a red mist covered his sight as its claws tore across his face. He felt one of them tear towards his eye, and he reached out blindly, tearing anything his hands found to shreds.  
  
As if from a distance, he heard the sharp staccato reports of an Uzi, and felt the dull thudding impacts of bullets with his undead flesh, so much like the time when a gang of Brujah anarchs had taken a jackhammer to him. He heard the clatter of the klaive and his knife as they fell from his hands to the pavement. He watched in slow motion as the only member of the pack to stay in human form –Jessie- some fragment of his mind reminded him, dropped the Uzi and ran after the last two wolf-men down the ally.  
  
Amaranth attempted to follow, but the world refused to cooperate. He managed to take two steps before it tilted upwards to smack him in the face. He heard the door to the cab of the truck open and prayed that the driver would stay away. He heard the guy muttering about how bad gang warfare in the city had become. That was something he had never understood about the wolves, was the way that humans would always rationalize something they did and forget about the werewolves themselves. A man knelt next to him. "Are you okay, man? Come on, let's get you to a hospital."  
  
No, get away. Please, leave me. I don't want to hurt you, Amaranth railed at the mortal uselessly inside his head. His mouth wouldn't work right, so all that came out was a groan. Get away, get away, get away, get AWAY, GET AWAY, GET AWAY, PLEASE GET AWAY. He could feel the hunger welling up inside him as the sweet scent of the truck driver's sweat and blood filled his nostrils. He tried to resist it, but he could feel it welling up from deep in the recesses of his soul like a raging torrent that would sweep away anything in its path. The part of him that was still human after sixty years of living the not-life walled itself away in the corners of his mind.  
  
Α Δ Ω  
  
His eyes snapped open at the sound of tiny feet skittering across the ground near his ear. Amaranth sat up, the slight tingling feeling of the new patches of flesh his only clue of where the blood had gone before the nausea of waking with almost no blood in his system hit him.  
  
"Have a rat," A voice said from the shadows deeper down the tunnel. A patch of shadows detached themselves from the walls and began to walk forwards. "And relax. Even though your in the sewers, none of the Nosferatu will hurt you, so long as I tell them not to. At least, not here."  
  
Amaranth reached over quickly and snagged a pair of the rats. He snapped their necks and drained them of what little blood their bodies could hold. Still craving more, he caught seven or so more and consumed those as well.  
  
Leaning back against the wall, he glanced at the man who had stepped into the light. Something was odd here. Then it hit him like a lightening bolt. "You're not a Nosferatu. So why am I here, and why would they listen to you?"  
  
The man smiled. He had flame-red hair and short goatee, and wore his black slacks and a silk shirt (also black), that were covered by a long black trench coat. The well-developed muscles in his arms had probably been developed through hours of practice with the sword, and Amaranth noticed a slight bulge to one side of the jacket that made him think there was some form of a bladed weapon there. The figure looked strangely familiar, but still struggling with the thirst, Amaranth couldn't quite place it.  
  
"There are worse things in these sewers than the Nosferatu. For instance, my friends and I. You would be surprised at how easily we get around. Tzimice flesh crafting, combined with my skills and Lasombra shadow mastery, helped along by the way you fools in the Camarilla treat the Nosferatu, will make it so easy to sow seeds of dissention and suspicion among the Camarilla of this city and turn the whole place into a seething blood bath."  
  
"Are you done Loki?" A second figure asked as it stepped out of the shadows. "We really ought to get started if we're going to do anything tonight."  
  
"Ahh, Amaranth, let me introduce you to our small cadre of troops here. This is Jahmal, and those are his siblings, Sayra and Sean. Together they, as triplets, makeup the Cerberus falaqi. Telleroin over there is our Tzimice." Loki had gestured to other figures who Amaranth could barely make out in the shadows. A broad smile split Loki's face, but he quickly changed it into a severe expression.  
  
"But that was just so bad of you. Whatever possessed you to kill the Seneschal's childe?" Loki pointed accusingly to the body lying at his feat in the damp tunnel. "Not to worry though, we'll dispose of the body…"  
  
"You didn't." Amaranth said as his eyes fell on the holes in the neck.  
  
"Oh, but I did." Loki smiled, as his face elongated slightly and his hair became jet-black. Amaranth stared at his mirror image. "Or rather, YOU did."  
  
  
  
Author's Note: Okay, I finally finished up this chapter, although it took me awhile to decide how it would end. But here it is. Tell me what you think everybody, please!  
  
Umm, yeah another problem I ran into was how to describe the werewolves in the fight scene. Because the story is meant to be from a third person limited viewpoint, I had to try and confine the terms used to describe them in terms that a Vampire would know and use. Thus, when I speak of wolf- men, it can be understood that I mean a werewolf in crinos form, and when I speak of lupines, I'm talking of werewolves in hispo form. At least for this turn. If anybody has any suggestions of ways to get around this problem, in the future I'd appreciate any advice.  
  
Also the ADW* is supposed to be a section break actually composed of the Alpha, Delta, and Omega symbols. I just noticed that Fanfiction doesn't support these characters, so they show up as gibberish… sorry all, my bad.  
  
Anyway, thanks for reading, and of course, even more so for reviewing. 


	4. Heaven's Justicar

Loki grinned down at Amaranth, a look of fiendish delight on his face. "They say revenge is a dish best served cold, and I find that I agree with that sentiment. How's it feel to be framed for a crime you didn't commit Amaranth, to know that no one will believe you when you try to convince them that you didn't commit it?" Amaranth closed his mouth, trying to think of anyone in the city who he hade offended. Quick reflection revealed a number of elders who were upset with him for some small reason or another, but Loki didn't seem familiar.  
  
Loki must have seen the puzzled expression on his face. "What, you don't remember me? Too bad, but I'm sure you'll figure it out in time. Anyway, I still have a good three hours until dawn, so I'll be heading out into the city. I'm sure I can find some others of importance to stake out for our friend Sol. Only thing is, I'll look like you when I do it, so.just think of what the cameras might record." Laughing maniacally, Loki turned and began to walk away, down the sewers. The triplets fell in behind him and Telleroin started to. Than Telleroin turned back.  
  
"Come Jayrod, chain him and let's go." Telleroin's voice was a little odd to here coming from a fiend. A high tenor, it was amazingly cultured, carrying a massive amount of power and dignity in this simple command. Amaranth recognized the discipline of Dominance, but only because the effects were not directed at him. He grudgingly reassessed the fiend in his head.  
  
Cold metal closed over Amaranth's wrist and a figure stepped around from behind him. The torn cape, black with a redlining, was the only thing Amaranth could distinguish of the figure before it faded in with the shadows.  
  
? ? ?  
  
A minute passed. Then another, and shortly an hour came and went. Amaranth waited, feeling a vague presence as something approached him. It was the second type of Enigma, different, almost antithetical, to the first, yet similar. He would have been at a loss to describe it, save to say that it was to his awareness like a dog whistle to a mortal's ears. Vague, just beyond perception, yet still noticeable somehow. He felt it stop in front of him, but his undead eyes could not find anything where he could sense it to be. A voice spoke, sounding inside his head rather than in the air.  
  
Well boy, it would seem that you've gone and jumped into the fire now. You're like a fox who was playing hide and seek with the hounds, and who, not paying attention, ran into a bear's den. So, how are you going to get out of this one?  
  
"Who are you?"  
  
Didn't mommy ever tell you it's not polite to answer a question with a question? But, I suppose you do need a name to refer to me by, don't you Amaranth? Some others call me Jak.  
  
But you. you fascinate me Amaranth. Former member of the Canards Chronique, a band of Vampiric intelligence gatherers and assassins. Embraced by the almost mythical Thomas Berium, the group's founder and a vampire who renounced his clan, but not Thomas' Childe, as evidenced by the fact your blood is more potent. Former Archon in the service of the Justicar of the Toreador, despite not having any formal allegiance to that clan. But no longer protected by that post's power and influence, the Justicar's term having expired twenty-six. no, twenty-seven years to the day now. And now. now what are you Amaranth? You kill vampires, mortals, werewolves, anything that you think needs killing with equal skill and lacking any form of mercy, compassion, conscience , or other human virtue. Sabbat or Camarilla, Gaia or Wyrm, Ronin or Caitiff, it doesn't seem to matter to you. What makes you tick? What makes you stay to such a dangerous and insane path?  
  
Amaranth would have laughed had it not been for his circumstances. It had always seemed crystal clear to him. Insanity. "If my sword can lessen the suffering in this life for others, then I will act as the wind of Heaven's Justice. If my sword can protect the lives of others, then I will kill without mercy." Insanity. Absolute justice may have seemed like insanity to others, but he saw just how much it was needed.  
  
Hmm. perhaps you have potential. Your future is to twisted and snarled for me to tell. A billion turnings in the web of fate, and some lead to utter annihilation. Others to failure, and still others to success. Perhaps.  
  
Amaranth felt the locks on the manacles give with a small click. Than the presence began to fade, rapidly vanishing into the depths of the tunnels. Amaranth smiled. The hounds may have forced the fox to ground, but they had left it alone. He massaged his wrists. By the time they returned the fox would be long gone.  
  
? ? ?  
  
He trudged along the streets, his torn clothes filthy with the muck of the sewers and the gore of his fight against the Spirals. He had no weapons, and he dared not return to his haven. No, if a camera had caught Loki diablerizing the Seneschal's childe, the surrounding neighborhood would have been teeming with the sheriff's men. Once inside the church he would have been safe, no vampire would have come within a hundred feet of one of his ghouls willingly. When all three were together. But all the power of their faith would not be enough to protect him if he were attacked on the streets outside. Moreover, it was nearly dawn. A group of ghouls could keep him away from the church long enough to let the dawn take him.  
  
He had to be thankful that it was so close to dawn though. After all, were it not, the other kindred who saw him would attempt to destroy him, if a blood hunt had been called on him. He dared not hope otherwise, remembering the advice of Kyrie Elision, the Justicar under who he had served. Her beautiful voice, a silky soprano spoke breathily into his ear. "Plan for the worst, and any surprises will be pleasant."  
  
He slipped into an alley and climbed a fire escape, opening a window as he reached the third floor. The apartment he entered into was empty, but he had known it would be. Jeckyl would be out hunting the streets with the rest of her pack, and none of them would return until midmorning earliest. The night was at it's darkest now, in the hour before dawn. With luck, the pack would go home before nightfall.  
  
Amaranth pushed aside the ceiling tiles and pulled himself up into the crawl spaces between floors, sliding the tiles back into place after him. He curled him self up into a fetal position on the platform nestled among the pipes and wires. Tomorrow would be soon enough to find out how much damage had been done to his reputation.  
  
  
  
Author's Note: I think Dawn is a good place to end this chapter.  
  
Sorry it's so short to those of you who are get upset by such things (cough, cough, Thor, cough), but I don't want to start the next day yet. The idea behind this was to introduce Jak and give a little more info about the other characters.  
  
Anyway, thanks for reading, and please review.  
  
PS: Top marks to anyone who can guess what Jak is (you fail the test if you can't figure out what Jeckyl is). 


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